Did I Ever Tell You What the Definition of Insanity Is?
by memetoextreme
Summary: "Love is rare, life is strange, nothing lasts, people change." Time to see the perfect example of the finest unknowing manipulator to ever love, Max Caulfield, and her devious, maniacal madness (will take a while for me to update).


_love is **rare** , life is **strange** , nothing **lasts** , people **change**_

* * *

She stared at the clock on the wall, her hands folded neatly in her lap. The constant _tick-tock, tick-tock, tick-tock_ set her mind at ease, though it sure still felt like her heart slowly withered away with it. She only thought in the form of crunching numbers recently. All she wanted was her cold calculations and her clock. It was simple, mostly in three stages: recap, recall, recollect. The fourth stage, she rarely got to: reveal, register, rethink, and reimagine. But never, ever _rewind_. It was the manifested equilibrium and she defiantly stood by it.

Maybe if she didn't tell the principal about Nathan, she could have saved him.

It was a long shot, but it could have worked. He could have seen that she was on his side. He could have quit all the drugs and she could have helped him. She could have stopped his father from hurting him. Yes, oh, yes, she could have. Maybe she could've even helped him reconnect with his sister.

 _Reconnect, reconnect, reconnect._ That was a factor she had to add to the fourth stage. He would like her adding that to the fourth stage.

Maybe if she intervened to help Kate, she could have more easily prevented a deadly fate.

Yes, yes it was true. The photo only wound up helping David get kicked out and sent Joyce into a depression. If she had stepped up and defended Kate–if she had stuck with what she originally intended to do–it could have made convincing Kate a much easier task. Her eyebrow twitched when the long hand on the clock moved over by one. That hand was Kate. Hello, Kate.

Maybe if she stopped David from lashing out, she could have erased all sense of doubt.

Chloe had thought she was no longer on her side. Had she ever thought she was on her side before that day? _Recall, recall, recall._ No, it seemed not. That was a problem she had to fix. How could she fix it? Hmm. Move on to the fourth stage. _Reimagine._

Maybe if she let Kate die, she could have still had time to say good-bye.

No. Yes? Perhaps. The greatest perhaps. The perhaps of all the perhaps. The longest semper. The thinest hand on the clock that never stayed still. Why won't you stay still, little hand? Are you trying to find Chloe? Are you trying to find Warren? Are you trying to find Kate? Kate is right there, silly little hand.

Good-bye. Who did she say good-bye to? Chloe. Warren. She wrote them on the inside of her eyelids.

Maybe if she blamed David, she could have stopped everyone from being baited.

Yes, definitely. No doubts. No good came from hurting Nathan. It never did. It was the stillness of the big short hand. It was the ghost in the back of her head. One of them. It liked to speak to her a lot. She didn't like it, but it was inventing the fourth stage for her. She had to stick close to it. It held on to all of her revelations.

Maybe if she stole the money, she could have tasted life like gold honey.

Her? No. Chloe? Yes. Chloe should have had the money. She could have gotten the life she deserved. Away from the bad people. But then the bad one became the good one and the good one became the bad one everything strayed away from them. She glared at the clock on the wall. Why did it change? What was she supposed to do? What could she do?

 _Recollect. Recollect, recall, recap. Recap, recall, recollect._ Always come back to the start. Rarely hit the fourth stage.

Maybe if she left the gun, she could have stopped that terrifying run.

So much running, but yes. All of the running could have been a slow walk. A saunter, even. But the running didn't matter, did it? It was all about the gun. The gun was the biggest, shortest hand on the clock. She didn't like it. Why did it always hurt the pretty numbers on the clock? Why did it try to stop the long hand? Why did it pause and jerk so much? Because it was the gun.

Maybe if she accepted that horrible request, she could have seen just how much she'd been blessed.

Another perhaps. Another ghost. She clutched the fabric of her jeans. What did that say about her? That she wanted to help the big short hand on the clock? She loved the pretty numbers too much for that.

Maybe if she let Warren go ape, she could have let his own life reshape.

Warren. Warren, Warren, Warren. _Register Warren._ No. Warren was the first pretty number. Hi, Warren. She wouldn't let the hand reach him, either. Warren should not go ape. Though if he did, maybe others wouldn't have been hurt. Or maybe he would hurt himself. Maybe everyone would be hurt.

Maybe if she didn't warn Victoria at all, she could have stopped her untimely fall.

 _Rethink, rethink._ She wanted to keep Victoria safe and all she did was hurt her. She put her in the position to turn to the petchricor in the clock. No one should become the petchricor in the clock. Victoria was too shimmering for that.

Maybe if she sacrificed Arcadia Bay, she could have convinced her Chloe to stay.

Chloe. She wanted her Chloe back. But if she let her Chloe go, the other pretty numbers could stay. Why couldn't they all stay? She loved all of them. How could you choose between the ghosts and the mists? The steam and the ice? The mountain and the sunset? She couldn't. It was the clock's fault.

She stood up, her arms falling limp at her sides. She pushed the chair in and stepped over to the clock. She could feel her eyes changing color. How do they do that so easily? They were blue one moment ago. But now they were red. She brushed the dust off the top of the clock. Good-bye, Jefferson. She pulled the clock off the wall. Hello, Kate. Hello, Warren. Hello, Victoria. Hello, Nathan. Hello, Chloe. Hello, all pretty numbers!

She gently took off the plastic covering. They could breath now. The ghosts in the back of her head told her so. She took out the stupid batteries in the back of the clock. The thinnest hand stopped moving. Now they could all sleep. The greatest perhaps was quiet now. Then, she raised the clock over her head so that they could feel elevated and happy. What did she want to add to the fourth stage? Reconnect?

 _Reconnect._

The clock shattered on impact with the desk, the hands and plastic flying and fluttering with butterflies around her like a million shards of glass forming a kaleidoscope. How beautiful. As beautiful as Chloe and Warren and Kate. All of the pretty numbers fell off the clock and cracked against the floor. She frowned. Reconnecting didn't work. But repairing didn't work before either. She couldn't recall, recap, or recollect now. How could she ever move on to the fourth stage now?

The fury in her head whispered to the ghost further in the back of her head.

 _Revive._

She stared down at the broken clock, so purposeless now. Don't worry, fragile clock. You will not be like Jefferson. She closed her eyes, but her expression remained stoic. She held out her hand and pictured all of the pieces coming back together. All of the pieces being happy again and living with no fear like they had done before. Everything being _fixed_ because she knew she could fix it.

But when she opened her eyes, nothing had changed.

The clock stayed broken. Nothing had awoken. Time did not unwind. She could not rewind.


End file.
